Before You Can Hate
by Gracielinn
Summary: Apparently her discreet exit from Flynn's room hadn't gone unnoticed after all... Lucy POV, post Episode Six one-shot, no spoilers.


Before You Can Hate

" _You have to love something before you can hate it..." - Nicholas Sparks_

Opening Flynn's door as quietly as she could manage, Lucy peered into the darkened, empty hallway and breathed a sigh of relief. Carefully closing the door behind her, she crept along the corridor to the communal area and the couch she _had_ been pretending to sleep on before knocking on his door, a bottle in her hand, after everyone else had retired for the evening. Lucy hadn't meant to drink as much as she had, but Flynn had somehow coaxed her into sharing memories of Amy, and while it had actually been kind of nice, Lucy found it easier to talk about her sister from beneath the comfortable blanket of numbness that alcohol provided.

Bending down, Lucy reached underneath to retrieve the basket of shower stuff that she'd stowed there last night. Now that she basically had nowhere to sleep after offering Rufus her half of the room she shared with Jiya, this just seemed less awkward than interrupting them or waiting until they got up to get her things.

Glancing around, everything seemed fairly quiet in the weak, pre-dawn light, and Lucy hoped it stayed that way long enough for her to take a nice, hot (hopefully, restorative) shower–anything to tame the headache that was beginning to insistently make itself known. Oh, yeah, that bottle of cheap vodka had _not_ been one of her better ideas, and considering the way her life had been going lately, that was saying something.

Cautiously tiptoeing down the deserted hallway, Lucy thankfully made it to the bathroom door without encountering any of her roommates. A miracle itself, as crowded as the bunker had become lately. Standing at the open doorway, she turned her head to take one last look around when suddenly, a warm, calloused hand clapped over her mouth, effectively silencing her startled shriek while a muscular arm held her tightly against an all-too-familiar masculine chest. Wyatt? The hell?

Instinctively, Lucy began to struggle when she was picked up and carried into the bathroom and deposited none-too-gently in front of the sink. Stunned speechless, she made no sound as Wyatt hastily jammed the chair under the doorknob before turning to face her. "Good morning, Lucy." Wyatt's deceptively mild tone and the casual way he folded his arms across his chest was belied by the dangerous glint in his dark blue eyes and the rigid set of his jaw.

Staring at him in amazed disbelief, Lucy could feel her stomach churning uneasily. Wonderful. The mother of all hangovers was really starting to own her ass right now, and dealing with a clearly pissed-off ex-lover was the last thing she needed on top of said upset stomach and a throbbing headache that was getting worse by the minute.

Pressing shaking fingertips to the crease between her eyebrows in a futile attempt to ease the relentless pounding in her head, Lucy purposefully ignored Wyatt's pleasant greeting and setting her things down by the sink, began to root around the basket for her toothbrush and toothpaste. Her mouth tasted nasty, like the bottom of a dirty shoe or something. Ugh. Why had she drunk so much?

Sparing a longing glance at the shower, Lucy decided to keep ignoring Wyatt and brush her teeth. It was a shame the shower would have to wait because it would probably make her feel better. Something (someone) definitely guaranteed to _not_ make her feel better was currently lounging rather impatiently against the door, trying to glare a hole in her back.

Lucy sighed wearily. She was so not in the mood, let alone physically able, to deal with him and whatever crisis of the moment put a stick up his ass so early in the morning. Hastily brushing her teeth, she waited until rinsing her mouth out before acknowledging his brooding presence silently watching her every move.

"Wyatt," she said tiredly, "Go away. I don't feel like talking to you right now, so, please, just go." Distracted by putting her toothbrush away, Lucy jumped when he suddenly appeared at her elbow.

"God, what are you, some kind of ninja?" she asked crossly, frowning at Wyatt, who involuntarily grinned down at her when she huffed in response.

Sobering quickly, he put his hand on her arm and murmured solemnly, "Lucy, I'm sorry, I know things are rough for you right now, I do, especially when a lot of that is on me." Swallowing thickly, he continued, "But getting drunk and jumping into bed with Garcia Flynn is _not_ the answer."

 _Oh, hell, no, he did_ _not_ _just go there._ Stunned, Lucy reared back and stared at Wyatt in astonishment. _He didn't just-no way, he wouldn't be selfish enough, smug enough, stupid enough..._ One look, though, at the crazy mix of concern and traces of underlying anger on his handsome face answered the question. "Are you spying on me?" She whispered incredulously, fervently praying he'd at least deny her accusation.

No such luck, though. The guilty blush stealing across his cheeks was answer enough. Even though Wyatt immediately stepped out of her personal space, a wave of betrayal and anger swept over Lucy, so fierce she couldn't even speak for a second, her fingers unconsciously flexing into small fists. Once there was a safe distance between them, Lucy stood still, chest heaving, before charging at Wyatt, and putting both hands on his rock solid chest, shoved with all the strength of her righteous fury, gratified when he fell back against the door, blue eyes going wide with shock. "Lucy, no, of course not," he stammered.

But it was definitely a case of too little, too late as Lucy Preston had finally hit a wall. Enough was enough–she was completely over this shit. _How dare he_? All bets were off now, her insistent headache and queasy stomach forgotten as Lucy embraced her white-hot anger, not at all concerned about trying to contain the heated, bitter words that fell from her lips.

"In case you weren't paying attention, Master Sergeant Logan, I am no longer any concern of yours. _How_ I spend my time, and for that matter, _who_ I spend it with, is none of your damn business. You made your choice, one that I am learning to live with, by the way, not that you seem to care, and it sure as hell wasn't me. Now I suggest you leave me in peace and run back to your wife before she starts to wonder where you are," she taunted savagely, absurdly pleased when his face went white.

Suddenly exhausted and sick at heart, Lucy turned back around and with trembling fingers began to undress, barely aware of Wyatt's muffled curse. The next thing she knew, he was right behind her, so close she could feel his warm breath on her neck. Shivering, she closed her eyes and muttered, "I hate you, Wyatt Logan," and to her dismay, Lucy felt a single tear slip down her cheek.

Putting both hands on her shoulders, Wyatt bent and gently, tenderly began to nuzzle her neck, murmuring in between soft kisses, "Oh, sweetheart, you can't possibly hate me as much as I hate myself, every time I look at you and see what I've done." Lucy's eyes opened in shock at his words, and staring at him in the mirror, she struggled to hang on to her anger, her pride. In a reality where everything that ever mattered had been brutally taken away from her, that was all she had left.

"Stop," she sighed as Wyatt pressed himself closer against her back, and he was so warm and felt so good it nearly made her dizzy.

"Lucy, please, don't push me away. I miss you so much," he husked against her ear, and she shivered. God, it would be so easy to give in. She loved and missed Wyatt desperately, was so lonely without him she ached. Perhaps sensing her weakness, Wyatt turned her around and putting his hand on her cheek, began to lower his lips to hers.

As her eyes closed in anticipation, Lucy felt the cold, smooth edge of his wedding band against her skin like a splash of ice water to her senses. Abruptly pulling back, she held out both hands and in a shaky voice ordered him to stop, her heart beating wildly in her chest. His look of confused despair almost broke her, but Lucy knew if she gave in, her heart, her very soul would be in jeopardy. Wyatt had made his decision, really from the second he'd received the text from his wife and ran away from the bunker–and it wasn't her, would _never_ be her, she thought despairingly, and they were both going to have to learn to accept that. For Lucy, that meant staying strong and being true to herself.

Lifting her chin, Lucy gathered the tattered shreds of her pride and self worth and proceeded to send away the only man she would ever love. "You need to leave me alone, Wyatt, and go back to Jessica. She's your wife, the woman you grieved over for six years, risked your life and freedom to bring back. I won't do this–it's not fair to me or _her_ ," she finished softly, biting her lip nearly raw to keep from crying.

Wyatt's face darkened in anger at her unexpected dismissal. "Are you sure, Lucy?" he sneered defensively, his eyes like blue chips of ice, "Because you didn't seem too unwilling just now. Of course, I suppose now that you and Flynn are friends with benefits, maybe you really don't need me any more."

Lucy hissed in wounded dismay at his blatant cruelty, and blurted out, "Fuck you, Wyatt Logan," and then her already fractured heart began to splinter in a million pieces at his hateful response.

"Been there, done that, sweet Lucy," he bitterly assured her, and as the pain crashed over her in waves, Lucy unconsciously put a hand on her chest and fought to stay upright. With one last angry glance, Wyatt turned around and removing the chair, stalked out of the bathroom as she sank to the floor. So this was what it felt like to have your heart ripped out of your chest. Inhaling deeply, she tried to breathe through the agony until she had the strength to pull herself to her feet, swaying unsteadily for a moment.

Well, that had been every bit as bad as she could have imagined. She resolutely shut down the tiny part of her that rejoiced at Wyatt's obvious feelings for her. That kind of thinking was self-indulgent, self-destructive, really, and Lucy didn't have the luxury of falling apart now. Her mother, Emma, and Nicholas Keynes were still out there, hellbent on destroying the world as they knew it, and it was long past time to accept her relationship with Wyatt Logan was now just collateral damage in the war with Rittenhouse.

 _A/N: Yikes, that went dark pretty quickly, didn't it? Guess I'm still trying to work through my issues with this triangle that's sucking up valuable time that could be spent on Lucy and Wyatt. Wow, bitter much, Gracie? It's called angst for a reason, my Timeless friends, lol... Thanks to all of you who take the time to read, follow, favorite, and especially review my stories-it means so much to me :))_


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